


A just desert

by depresane



Series: Fanon Murdane lore [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Battle, Deities, Fanon, Gods, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Invasion, Justice, Non-Explicit, Payback, Self-Sacrifice, backfire, comeuppance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depresane/pseuds/depresane
Summary: I hate this month, I hate the latest January, I hate hating.This excerpt was meant to be a part of TNTGTN but it held me down, so f**k it.Yes, the idiom is plural. This is my title, though.





	A just desert

Murdane’s community once fought against worshippers of a minor god of pillage, whose name was lost to history. He used an image of a wyvern with ram horns to distinguish himself. His army, blinded with foul intentions, was marching or riding their horses towards a town uphill. Four thousand men, a thousand women, and twelve soldiers of hidden identity. They had defeated the defensive forces of Murdane’s hometown; shields with a quadrupedal owl lay stained and broken.  
Then! The horses shrieked, throwing their riders off. Soon after, humans and dwarves yelled as well, especially those in hide armour. Several were unable to get up, turning in pain.  
“Halt! Halt, ye dim dicks!,” yelled the god in a scale shirt and a gorget. He grabbed the soil and ripped it upwards, revealing a broken head of a flail in his grasp. “Dirty peasants had buried them spikes for our steeds!”  
“Let us dig them out!”  
“Shut it, ye sheep! Drop yer shields to walk on!”  
With only a few abled horses left, the army moved slowly in queues; the wounded were forced to wait until all the healthy passed.  
And yet! Arrows flew from roofs, striking the front. The soldiers had to step aside from their improvised raft, choosing between bleeding legs and a blow to their chests. Those who hesitated for too long were shot dead. The army was scattered and confused.  
Archers, actually hunters, were standing on houses, holding five arrows in one hand; they would pick up new ammunition from chimneys.  
  
Inside one of the houses, a crowd watched and waited as two women were preparing contraptions on a table. Murdane, freckled all over her forearms and cheeks, sitting in a seemingly uncomfortable position, beheaded a snake and held its jaws. The second woman inserted a thin, blunt stick to block the jaws. A person stepped closer, took the snake head and left the house. The procedure was repeated until there was nobody left to take the contraption.  
The women prepared the last snake head. Neither let it go.  
“Please,” spoke Murdane.  
“No. Flee and live. There’s so much you can teach our people…”  
“I can’t teach them all. Jergal is watching my bed, calling me… You are young and you know enough. It would be a waste…”  
She didn’t finish because the second woman lowered her head, weeping and whining. Finally, she ran and pushed the door open.  
  
Soon, the room was raided by three soldiers. But what was that? One foe lay face down on the floor, twitching and erupting foamy saliva. The second enemy rested in an unnatural twist, a broken chair next to them. The third invader had their throat slit.  
A horrified yell commanded from the outside, “DON’T TOUCH THE WOMEN!” An angry scream repeated. Shrieks followed.  
On that day, four hundred soldiers were stricken with arrows and a thousand was deceived into death. Those who survived suffered from infected wounds. The god realized he had no army.  
  
And fate spited him in his last minute when he saw Murdane.  
He demanded, “Show yer scalp! The side of yer head! Show me!” Blood drained from his face.  
Instead, she produced a divine light between her hands.


End file.
